1 plus 1
by Erisjade16
Summary: *Bucky X OC* Completely self-indulgent fan fiction based on "1 1". I regret nothing...
1. Chapter 1

_If I ain't got nothing, I got you  
If I ain't got something I don't give a damn, cause I got it with you_

He slips away toward the end of the evening. After they've listened to all the customary speeches and performed all the customary dances. After the cake's been cut and they've cleaned the sweet remnants from each other's faces. After a great deal of laughter and a few stray, happy tears.

She's not surprised. Nor worried in the least. After all this time, Bucky still has a bit of trouble with the crowds. The noise. Just because it's their wedding day doesn't make it any different. Hell, she's happy and so very proud he made it this far into the night without pulling a disappearing act.

So, she mingles with the remaining guests. Takes a couple turns on the dance floor with Tony and Sam. Tries not to cry when Steve pulls her aside to thank her for loving his friend. She admits to herself that all this is, in fact, a lot , and slips away to find her man, her husband, silently thinking that he's got the right idea.

 _I don't know much about algebra, but I know one plus one equals two  
And it's me and you, that's all we'll have when the world is through_

He's made it easy for her to find him, and she's grateful for that. She's been counting down the minutes until she can be rid of these blasted high heels.

On the rooftop patio he stands with his back to the city, hips against the railing, the city lights below them twinkling amid the inky darkness of the surrounding night sky. He's got an empty champagne flute in his right hand. His eyes are focused on the carbonite band adorning his left ring finger.

She knows he hears her approach, but he doesn't look up until she speaks.

"Don't start regretting it just yet, Mr. Barnes," she says in her smooth teasing way, the sharp click of her high heels underscoring her words. "Give it until after the honeymoon. At least."

He let's her push in close. Sets his glass on the ledge. Smiles down at her as she loops her arms about his waist.

"Who said anything about regret, Mrs. Barnes?"

Her eyes go wide for a moment, shining softly in the dimness.

 _"'Mrs. Barnes',"_ she parrots. "Sounds so strange, huh?"

He offers his own soft smile. Slips the rough pad of his thumb over the curve of her chin.

"It does," he admits. "Wouldn't have it any other way, though."

His words fill her with swelling joy, with brightening happiness because, holy shit, who ever thought they'd be here? In this place? On their wedding night?

 _'Cause baby we ain't got nothing without love  
Darling you got enough for the both of us  
So come on baby, make love to me_

"By the way, your Ma's already grilled me about when we plan on givin' her a couple grand babies."

She laughs loudly, throwing back her head and missing the way his eyes zero in on the soft skin of her throat.

"And, what did you say?"

He tuts quietly, hands easily finding her hips amid the mass of her full skirts.

"I created a diversion of course. Slipped away the first chance I got."

Her laugh is quieter this time. She watches him, her eyes searching his face, the cerulean depths of his beautiful eyes.

"That why you're out here? Contemplating a couple Barnes babies?"

His eyes drift away and she knows she's hit a soft spot. She rises up on tiptoes to place a gentle kiss to his scruffy cheek. She was adamant about him not shaving for the occasion.

"Listen, I've spent the last two years working on keeping us sane and safe. Let's get through tonight, OK?"

His hands flex at her sides. "You've never talked about it," he says in a low voice, and she can feel the worry beginning to wind its way through him. "Having kids, I mean."

She sighs. Allows more of her weight to rest against him as she smooths her hands down the crisp lapels of his suit jacket. He looks more than handsome tonight. He is stunning. Beautiful. Her dark angel.

"We have tonight, Bucky. We should enjoy tonight before we start considering how many pretty little girls I may or may not end up popping out for you."

She feels him relax. Knows that, at least for now, she managed to push a couple of his fears to the back burner.

"Boys," he grunts after a short pause. "We'll have all boys. I don't think my heart can handle a bunch of little girls that look and act like you."

She laughs, knowing he's right. Both of them absolutely aware of the power a bunch of bright eyed little girls would have over their daddy.

 _When my days look low, pull me in close and don't let me go  
Make love to me, so when the worlds at war, that our love heal us all_

The silence which follows is sweet. Comfortable. Each wrapped up in their own little worlds while wrapped up in each other's arms.

Later, when going through the photos, they would find a picture of them like this. Huddled in close. Reveling in the calm and quiet. Him looking at her with equal parts love and awe. Her smiling sweetly up at him with her chin resting on his chest and the ridiculous mass of her skirt obscuring his legs.

It was a beautiful moment. A relaxed moment, when the outside world didn't matter and the party, _their_ party, still going on beyond the tall patio doors didn't even register.

It was their favorite moment, because neither of them was thinking of smiling, or posing, or stopping one or both of them from tripping over her dress. It was a quiet, stolen moment. And, it was perfect.

 _Right now baby make love to me me me me me  
Oh oh make love to me_

"Speaking of making babies, you think we could get outta here?"

Bucky chuckles. Slides the flat of his hand over the exposed skin of her back.

"It's our party, doll. We make the rules. I think."

She rises up again, her silk clad breasts pushing into him. Her lips find the sweet spot just below the hinge of his jaw and he growls low in his chest when her teeth graze over it.

"Then, let the honeymoon begin, Mr. Barnes."

****


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey, I don't know much about guns but I...I've been shot by you_

They behave like a couple of unsupervised teenagers during the limo ride back to the hotel. Whispering and giggling. Stealing kisses. Groping and pawing at each other until they're both breathless and beyond horny. They'd like to do more, probably would do more if not for the stupid dress.

So she settles for working her hand into his tuxedo pants. Takes a bit too much pleasure teasing him mercilessly with the knowledge that she can get to him but he can't get to her just yet.

Bucky groans, his teeth nipping at the soft skin of her shoulder, causing her to gasp and momentarily disrupting her rhythm. He's hard and heavy in her hand, and there's no way one man should look so fucking good in a tux.

"Easy now, Mrs. Barnes," he murmurs, breath hot on her skin. His voice is low, dangerous, hinting at the absolute ruin he plans on visiting upon her as soon as they get to their suite. His hips rock in time with her stroking fingers, pleasure winding up his spine and pulsing at the base of his skull in dark, writhing technicolor.

"It's mine," she says, equally breathless. Twists her hand just so, and he's clutching at her wrist with his metal fingers in a half-assed attempt to halt her movements. "I put a ring on it, didn't I? Legally, it belongs to me now, Mr. Barnes."

He lunges at her ruby red lips. Kisses her roughly. Sloppily. Hungrily.

"Fuck, why are you still wearing this goddamn dress?" he laments, frustration rising like a tide inside him. He tries desperately to find a way under the many layers of her skirt. Considers ripping it and apologizing for it later.

But the vehicle is slowing, then stopping, and the bright lights of the hotel illuminate the mess they are, nearly sprawled across the seats.

 _Hey, and I don't know when I'm gon' die, but I hope that I'm gon' die by you_

Bucky doesn't even wait for their driver. Before she knows it, they're stumbling out into the street, her hand clasped firmly, possessively, in his, and he's practically dragging her through the front doors and across the immaculate lobby.

He's vaguely aware of her laughter ringing high and clear around him. Barely aware of a few people clapping and offering congratulations as they rush by. He's sure he looks like a maniac, and when she stumbles a bit in trying to keep up with his determined, long-legged strides, it's all he can do to keep himself from hauling her over his shoulder caveman-style.

His woman.

His wife.

He wants her. He needs her. She's in his blood. Thrumming through his veins.

He'll laugh later when she recalls the look on his face when they had to share the elevator with another couple. For now, his mind is focused on her - the sweet scent of her perfume invading his brain; the contrast of her velvety, smooth, coffee-colored skin against her voluminous white gown; the warmth of her lips on his own.

She is his. Finally, completely his. 

His woman…

 _… My wife ..._

There's a bit of a scramble for the key card. After the third failed swipe, he takes a step back and is about to break down the door when she stops him with a hand at his waist.

"Don't you dare," she laughingly scolds him. She snags the card. Tamps down the urge to gloat when she gets it on the first try.

She's gathered her skirt in both hands and is just about to breeze through the doorway when he stops her.

She turns, confused, because she's damn sure he was two seconds away from kicking in the door. But the look on his face stops her. His eyes have lost some of the heat, the fire, from before. They're shining down at her, a frown tugging at the corners of his beautiful mouth.

He moves in close. Reaches up to hold her face between both the flesh and blood and cybernetic hands.

 _Hey, and I don't know much about fighting, but I, I know I will fight for you_

"Someday soon, I'm gonna buy you a house, and we'll do this the proper way," he whispers, and there's need in his voice, and something softer, something urgent and slightly pained.

She reaches up with both hands. Curls her thin, warm fingers around his wrists, not sure exactly what he's talking about though wanting to comfort him all the same. She presses a soft kiss to the heels of both his hands. Loves the opposing feel of rough, calloused flesh and smooth, flawless metal.

"Bucky, I-" she starts to say but, suddenly, she's being lifted into the air, feet swinging out and both arms automatically going up to link around his neck. She laughs loudly. Wildly. Happily.

Bucky steps over the threshold. Holds her close and tight as he kicks the door shut behind him.

Damn this man and his sweet old-fashioned ass.

She wouldn't have it any other way. Remembers, vividly, the broken man he used to be. Remembers the night terrors and the self-loathing which filled him to bursting, and tore her heart in two for him. Remembers the horrible period of time when he wouldn't let her anywhere near him. Pushed her away, claiming fear and regret, and how hard they'd both fought to come back from it all.

To be where they are now, him carrying her into a hotel suite after exchanging vows only a handful of hours before, is her favorite kind of miracle.

"God, I love you," she sighs into his ear,nuzzling sweetly into him. Breathes deeply of his heated metal and clean-sweat scent.

She feels his fingers tightening against her. Pulling her even closer still.

"You better." he teases. "You're stuck with me now."

She sinks her teeth into his neck. Giggles at the rough, threatening sound he makes low in his chest.

They've made it to the bedroom and he sets her down gently. Carefully. As if he's worried she'll break.

 _Hey, just when I ball up my fist I realize I'm laying right next to you_

Despite the frenzy of the limo ride and the subsequent trek to their suite, he stops.

And stares.

Gazes in absolute awe because, somehow, somewhere inside all the mess which has come to pass, he's found an angel who accepts every broken, misplaced, jumbled up and dirty piece of him. An angel who sees beyond it all and welcomes that being with open arms.

He doesn't understand it. Perhaps he never will. But they have here. They have now. She's wearing his ring. She carries his name.

"Care to help me out of this dress, Mr. Barnes," she says softly, quietly, and he can hear the nerves, the emotion, beneath it all. Because, in spite of all the smiles, the sometimes hairpin trigger temper and the loud-mouthed bravado, she's got the softest, sweetest center. A heart far too big for her body.

He doesn't trust his voice, so he only nods. She laughs lightly when his arms circle around her. Shaking fingers find and tug at the zipper. He watches the material shift and slowly peel away from her body, and there's something delicate and black and lacy underneath.

He steps back to get a good look at her and, for a moment, he can't think. Doesn't dare to breathe. Commits this image - the elegant line of her neck and the gentle curve of her shoulders in the dim light - to memory.

She holds out her hand and he takes it. Helps her step out of what used to be her wedding dress. His heart threatens to seize inside his chest.

His angel has been dipped in sin. She stands before him, all dark, delicious curves and soft skin and clingy, barely there underthings.

"You've been wearing this underneath that thing all day?" he asks, voice raspy and disbelieving and halfway wrecked already.

She gives him a smile that's somewhere between coy and embarrassed.

"I have," she admits.

"Get on the bed. _Now_."

She laughs. It's shaky. "Sir, yes, sir." But the usual sass is gone from her voice.

His response is a low, guttural growl as his hands go for the buttons on his jacket.

Once situated and reclining against a decadent mound of obscenely plush pillows, she watches him undress. Wants to tell him how beautiful he is just now, with his tousled hair and flashing blue eyes. The tux fits him to perfection. Settles perfectly over the broad line of his shoulders. Hugs the lean slope of his waist. And those legs that go on for days...

He looks dark and dangerous in all the ways that make her heart kick and stutter inside her chest. Make her fingers itch with the need to touch him. To feel him close and warm and alive.

Though it's not just his appearance. It's his love for her which makes him so very beautiful. Perfect, despite his protests to the contrary. His love is strong and powerful and overwhelming and all-consuming. Just like the man.

Yes, of course, she watches him. Admires every inch of lean, sculpted muscle. The cybernetic arm that he still, silently, hates. She longs to trace over every scar with the tip of her tongue. Her fingertips.

She shimmies out of the scrap of material which passes for underwear and, when he turns to face her more fully, tosses them over his shoulder. Then settles back again, allowing her knees to open wide enough for him to see what he does to her, the glistening moisture which has been there all day. Beckons to him with the slight arch of a thin brow and the playful smile on her lips.

His eyes take her in as he climbs up onto the bed. He slinks toward her on hands and knees, and there's a lovely sort of predatory grace in the stretch and pull of every muscle.

As he makes his way up her body, he places long, lingering kisses over her thighs. Her stomach. Scrapes his teeth over a puckered nipple. The arch of her collarbone. Causes her to twist and mewl helplessly beneath him.

 _Baby we ain't nothing but love  
And darling you got enough for the both of us_

"Bucky."

His name is a whisper. A plea. Her lilting voice pulls him in close. Her alluring heat keeps him there.

Her fingers sift through the loose strands of his hair. They scratch his scalp the way she knows drives him crazy.

He wants to make love to her. To worship her in all the ways she deserves, but the need is uncoiling inside him and he can barely see straight. He wants her so fucking badly it almost hurts.

And because she knows him so well, because she doesn't fear the shadowy things slithering about inside him, called forth by the press of her flesh against his own, she welcomes it. Begs for it. Slides her lean legs over his hips to coax him closer.

He kisses her slowly this time, though no less hungrily. Her lips are so soft and giving. She opens so beautifully, so eagerly, for him, and he slicks his tongue into her mouth, moaning at the honey and wine taste that greets him. He presses further. Deeper. Her taste explodes in his brain. Sets every nerve ending alight with pure, aching desire.

Her small hands slip smoothly down his sides. Her nails drag over his skin, a delicious, sparking sort of pain that causes him to rock against her, his lower half instinctively seeking the warmth and safety of her body.

"Need you, Bucky," she murmurs, long arms tugging him closer still.

He settles himself more firmly between her thighs. Releases a harsh breath when his cock slips along and parts her dripping folds. She's so wet. So warm. And utterly and completely his.

With his metal arm braced next to her shoulder, he reaches between their bodies with his flesh and blood hand and angles himself at her entrance. He doesn't wait. He can't. He lunges forward. Buries himself fully within her walls.

Pleasure jackknifes up his spine and, for a moment neither of them can move. What little control he's managed to hold onto up to this point is certainly, surely, slipping away. Especially when she gasps out his name and buries her face in the crook of his neck. Her cunt pulses and flutters around him. Pulls him swiftly, sharply, to the edge.

He works his arm beneath her hips. Angles her body to take more of him.

 _Make love to me when my days look low,  
Pull me in close and don't let me go_

The pleasure rises hard and fast, spreading and roiling through her, impossibly bright and blindingly clear. And, fuck, yes, she needs this. Needs him. Needs every part of him.

She whines, clutches at his shoulders when he rears back and then plunges back in. His lips find her ear. His hips find their rhythm.

"You wanted me, huh? Wanted your husband so bad," he rasps.

"Oh, _shit_ ," she groans, because damn, those words sound so good. They push the pleasure even higher.

He immediately picks up on it. Keeps his mouth close to her ear as he rocks into her, thrusting in long, firm strokes that take her breath away.

"That's right, doll," he grits out. Rolls his hips to give her that extra bit of friction they both love so much. "I'm your husband, now. You're my wife."

Words escape her. She can only moan, sharp little sounds that gradually rise in volume as he continues to thrust inside of her.

"My wife… _umph_... _My_ wife… Mine… fuck, _yesssss_ … All _mine_ …"

It becomes a chant. A seductive, possessive mantra, and she knows he means it, because she means it just the same. But, the pleasure is too intense, too much to verbalize anything more than a panted, mewling acknowledgement, so she squeezes him within the hot clutch of her walls. Tight and tighter still, wanting him to know that she's never going to let him go again. That she'll always be his. Always.

"Oh, God, baby," he huffs, rhythm faltering. Flesh and blood fingers digging almost painfully into her hip. "I'm so close. So fucking close. See what you do to me?"

And the rough sound of his voice, the sound of him teetering on the very edge and barely holding on, sends her orgasm crashing over her. Blazing. Racing. Scorching through her veins. Her back arches, spine lengthening then liquefying, and the weight of his body, the frantic snap of his hips, keeps her firmly in place. Forces her to take what remains of him.

Her orgasm pulls him under, sends him barrelling into a hard, rutting release, his desperate howl of completion muffled by his lips pressed into her neck.

 _Make love to me so that when the worlds at war_

For a long time neither has the energy to move. Nor do they want to. They wallow in it. Exchange knowing smiles and soft, lingering, sated kisses.

"One girl," he says when she's curled in against his side, her fingers tapping out a lazy beat against his rib cage.

She's half asleep. Hardly aware. Wonderfully relaxed and wrung out, so she doesn't quite know what to make of what he's just said.

She tilts her head back to look at him. Gets sidetracked by the sight of his plump lower lip.

"What?"

His metal palm smooths up her spine. Leaves goosebumps in its wake.

"We'll have one girl. I think I'd like a daughter... I think I could handle that."

She laughs. Snuggles in closer. Brushes her lips over his skin.

"I'll see what I can do."

 _Help me let down my guard, make love to me me me me me  
Oh oh make love to me me me me me…_


End file.
